Hidden Truths
by FamRoyalty
Summary: Unbeknownst to the wizardry world, Rita Skeeter squeezed out the truth of unknowing muggles on the real matter of the Boy Who lived. And causing the scandal of the century.
1. Beginning of the end

**Disclaimers**: Mentiones of abuse, neglect, and harm to children will be mentioned. I do not own any of the canon Harry Potter characters.

_Summary_: Unbeknownst to the wizardry world, Rita Skeeter squeezed out the truth of unknowing muggles on the real matter of the Boy Who lived. And causing the scandal of the century.

* * *

**The calm before the storm**

* * *

Mrs. Johnson pursed her lips as she laid back on the warm leather sofa. She could feel her muscle relax as she stared out of her window into the debt and direction of the house down the block.

The time came when the sun went down that she began to think of that _fashion killer_ that came into her home not a couple of week ago.

She asked too many questions, all with the audacity of walking and talking with that _coat_, about the boy who lived on the house that cause too many questions and rumors. A reporter, she said, to figure how normal children live with the laws that would be in place or some ridiculous thing.

She personally, didn't care much for what that woman said. She answered the normal ones, but it was the stick on the mud questions that would leave her tilting her head.

_Why are there bars on the window?_ Mrs. Johnson frowned as she recalled what Mrs. Dursley told her. _Because he's always running away and causing wicked trouble._

_Do you often see him? Or his state?_ Mrs. Johnson never met a problem with the Dursley's, but that didnt mean she would gladly walk into their home, she is poorly aware of how they treated their ward._ I never had a _personal_ interaction with that boy, but he does like too skiny for his age, I suppose._

She thought of herself as a respectable woman with morals and standards, even with her husband, but she always felt aware of something not quite right with that family. She went out of her way to discourage interaction with that family, even restricted contact with her boy with that pig of a son they cuddled.

She never saw, or heard anything, but she always saw how long that poor child worked under the sun during the summer. In her opinion, that Dudley needed a firm hand and some excessive amount of exercise.

_How do you view him?_ That Rita woman leaned in with something in her eye that made her lean back away from her. A woman that would do anything to get her the facts and the story. _View? Well, um, he's a good enough boy, even with all those things he's done._

_Things? Care to expand on that?_ Mrs. Johnson blinked at the rushed question, she coughed into her hand as she picked up her cup of tea._ Well, I heard from his aunt that he steals and apparently even fights on school grounds. Leading to why they always keep him home, I suppose._

The fashion killer only half nodded, if it confirmed something already made up in her mind. _And do you belive it? Those rumors?_ Now, listen, Mrs. Johnson wanted to laugh at such silly question. Things here on the small, peaceful suburb, there's one thing you must be clear: You are you're reputation.

If you came from a failing family, you'll be isolated and driven away. You could handle it, maybe even enjoy it. But we're all human, and interactions are what connect you to reality. You don't want to lose those connections. That's why Mrs. Johnson never publicly spoke against such idiotic rumors.

She's a stay-at-home mother, with a wonderful, smart boy, and a idiotic husband. She moved a country away from her family, she _needs_ connection to grip her reality.

So, this point Mrs. Johnson guards up, _Would you mention my name in this paper?_ As table turns, Rita blinked at the question. _No, why?_

Mrs. Johnson sighed as she carefully put down her neglected cup of tea. _You have to understand something here. I- Well, his Aunt is very. . . Doting on her son. But to that boy, she, uh, is like a distant family you never met before. She defends herself by saying how the boy was dumped on her, which I can understand, by how his neglectful, drunk parents died on a car accident-_

_Wait- Wait. Are you saying that's how they died? Drunk?_ She leans back in surprise on how forceful her words gasped doubtfully. _That's what his aunt always says whenever the topic is brought up. But, no I do not belive those rumors. I, personally, only met Harry once, but when I did, he was very polite and smart. Even went out of his way to help me on the yard. We only talked for a bit very his aunt went thundering out._

The Rita person tensed up, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes in concentration. Mrs. Johnson had no reason why not to believe the things Mrs. Dursley had to say about the boy's parents. But her reaction is too curious to pass up.

_Why? Did you know the parent's boy?_ She took a while to answer, but finally she muttered,_ No, I personally never meet the Harry's parents, but the, uh, reports made it crystal clear how they both were murdered trying to defend their month's old baby._

At that point Mrs. Johnson gasped in horror, did the boy even know? Did anyone?

_I never knew! Petunia always rants about how horrible his sister was! Like- Like- how she was send away for misbehavior to some school for criminals, and how she always ignored their family._

The fashion killer- Rita, only nods. Ask some dumb questions and leaves as soon as she came. It, in all it experience, was strange, and unforgettable.

The next couple of days after her talk with a maybe-reporter, she talked to her friend and neighbor. About how the reporter talked and asked strange questions about the boy down the street. How his parents weren't drunks, but died trying to save their baby boy. About all the mystery surrounding that family.

That neighbor talked, and so the talk spread and spread, before reaching the ears of a horse-faced woman, who was already on thin ice.

And so, the careful and high stake reputation that made you crumbled at the feet.


	2. Hurricane

**Disclaimers**: I do not legally own any of the Original Harry Potter characters.

**Warnings**: mentions of child abuse will be written.

_Summary_; One Harry Potter wakes up in a nightmare.

**A/N: ** I'm writing this through pov of characters around Harry Potter, or important to the plot. You'll see the hints and details advance when reading.

* * *

**Dreamwalking**

The sun rose, breaking through the old stones and heavy windows of the sleepy castle. Creatures of the forest rose and hid from the sun rays trickling down from above.

Thing shifted, in the belly of Hogwarts, meals were baked and prepared like any ordinary day in a extraordinary world. Things here were brewing underneath, an uneasy fell into the student body. But those emotions and thoughts were put aside with the morning haze of the school.

Because that's the magic of Hogwarts, that there's always a warm spell surrounding its old walls that told untold stories.

That's why it came to such an icy shock.

Let's rewind: You wake up. With a heavy tonuge and aching bones, you want nothing else but to fall back into the warm matress, to float away from conscious of reality.

But you are forced to what to feel, and so, you force through the cotton stuffed into your ears, and mindlessly walk to the toilet. You just want to stop the ache in your back, and blink away the sleep.

You're still clearing away the haze surrounding you, an uphill battle, when you bump into your best friend. A friend, that no matter just how ridiculous, will step in and jump into a rabbit hole with you.

This is the step you regret: with you're sleep deprived mind, you both agree to go and fill you're stomachs 'till they explode. A brilliant plan.

You struggle with your shoes, and both make stupid jokes typical of teenagers. You both laughed, bumped jnto each other, and joke as you enter the Hall.

And it never gets old.

Grand arches stretch further as you look at it, the soft clouds giving the illusions away, and the thousands year old wood that never creaks under pressure. The stone walls that held deep secrets, and the croocks and corners that were full of magic. And the fresh oven smell that lingers in the air, _this_ is magical.

You feel goosebumps at the awarness of just how old this truly is, but your attention is distracted as the volume of the mass voices suddenly rise in pitch.

The direction of voices were mixed, all from Slytherins to Hufflepuffs, even some from the table up front.

"Bloodly 'ell, what's happening?" Ron marvelled, a tinge of fear or shock slipped through. Thats when you became aware.

Awareness of not knowing: you're suddenly out of it, looking at your mate to figure what is happening. He's as flabbergasted as you. You take a look around your own, and are meet with heartbreaking eyes.

Awareness of others: your first thought _someone died_ is not enough became obvious as they all grip their papers that owls always drop, because of course someone died. Someone important and well known.

Awareness of location: you're seated with your back to the entrance, no one behind you can see your expression as you finally wrestle a paper away from the one closest to you. The wood under you, seated by generations of students that molded the world suddenly feels too light.

Time: time moved too slow for you. The attention grabbing Headline is too eye catching even for you, and when the milliseconds it takes your brain to process the pictures into proper words is when the reality of everything settles in. Seconds passed and in those so has your life.

Exterior motion: you know people around you are moving, making exaggerated movements. All so slow, and unpredictable, and you're aware of how fast your brother stepped in, not even knowing _why_ they were reacting such way.

Body position: your back arched backwards if in attempt to curl into itself for protection. Your hunched over, with your muscled cramped like the time you were sick from food poisoning. The rolls of fat making it hard to breathe.

Temperature: its suddenly very cold. No longer does the atmosphere feel magical nor warm. Your hands are clamped and stiff as your brother catches the Headliner and his eyes become wide with horror.

Balance: it, also, became very hard to keep still. You feel like tilting to one side into the next, but by sheer dumb luck, you're still as your brother rages.

Muscle tension: your teeth hurt. It took a second to acknowledge it, but the pain grounded you. Made you look at yourself and see just how tightly you were gripping the papers. The photo is of you as a first year in a magical away school with awed eyes, and a toothy smile.

Heartbeat: your ears are blocked by old drums of your heart to alert you of just how badly this truly is. Its too fast, like a rabbit's whe you held one in a rare school field trip. Destiny is the hands, and you're feeling too small. Many of your friends surround you, most sitting, and all you could do is shake you're head in denial.

Gravity: you're legs are stuck. In a flare of panic, you can't help but to think you're never going to leave because your legs won't move. In fact, your shoulders feel too heavy. It takes everything to keep your head foward.

Motion of self: You shake your head slow, and delaid, as your arms shiver from the goosebumps vastly different from before, these earned from the cold.

Perception of conclusions: everyone knows and no matter what you scream the Headline will stay in their minds. You'll kick and scream that's all lies spilled from a non creditable source. But when you turn to your best friend, you'll look into his eyes and face and you know its pointless.

Perception of imagination: maybe this is a nightmare, like those thaf you are naked in school, or your teeth fall off. A recurring theme is how this always ends and you wake up to reality. Maybe this is due to stress and the pressure of the outside world dooming his dreams.

Depth: you shake yourself, you faced dark lords, you'll be fine. But those hollow words do nothing as your leader steps foward to calm the hurricane of a storm that is raging in front of him. You can't help but to compare it like moses in the red sea, all so tiny controlling a wild sea of unknown.

Sound: his voice carries above you and into the deep ears of your ears. To calm down. Everything is fine. Go back to your business and do well in class. But after all, he'll pull you aside, even with Ron fighting and seething will be pushed.

Reality: you're fucked.

And when the hurricane leaves, and wary survivors finally pick up, you realize that someone did die that day.


	3. Do you see the ghosts?

**A/N: **Heyy, guess who isn't really dead? This bitch. Sorry, it took me a wee too long to actually sit down and write something here. The reason? Because of I kind of genuinely forgot I wrote this. You see, I wrote this whenever I had time to spare in-between my classes. And that I did it in Samsung's notepad. So, if you see any mistakes and errors in the plot, as well as grammar, please do keep that in mind.

Again, my bad.

* * *

**Do you see the ghosts, Albus? **

He never felt so old.

Albus stretches his aged fingers on the old wood. The portraits were away, busy dealing with the aftermath, that he finally sat down, alone in the chair, and _thought_.

He isn't new to these type cases. Many old schooled parents believed in what they truly thought was the right thing to do to stop their own fear for what might happen to their child in the real world. Or to continue a toxic cycle. He knows the laws, the books, and the consequences of what could happen to children under this kind of households.

But Harry Potter's?

He remembers the cold air, burning his nostrils, holding such a warm, tiny being in his arms. He feels nauseous thinking of those paper cut houses, all their inhabitants asleep and blissfully unaware.

_When did he get so old?_

He stares at his old, callous hands, and he remembers a flash of another lifetime. When he was young, too smart for his good, running under the sun, with a beating heart. He remembers another pair of hands, pressing up against him and whispering honeyed lies.

It's a long time to live for 100 years. And James- Another colored flash, of the man throwing his head back and roaring with laughter, lighting up the room. Lilly, sweet Lilly with a patience of a saint, as she always hid the smile whenever James would try to woo her with a poorly planned date.

He leans back, blinking away to stare at the ceiling. He remembers the first night under this particular roof. Too high on anxiety and the knowledge that the founders themselves slept in the same room. It's too long now.

He never _thought_.

Lilly, teasing James for getting himself in trouble again, she was always there for people when times were too heavy on them. He remembers the scribbled words, written by a little girl wanting to join something impossible. The desperation. The pleading.

He thought she had straightened herself out because she shares the same blood and roof of Lilly Potter. What a sentimental fool he was to think such a false reality.

He remembers-

How Harry Potter shakes and shouted, puffed cheeks and red eyes as he yelled in denial. _Lies! Nothing but a pile of shite!_ He wanted to scold for such vulgar language, but he looked down at his aged hands and kept mute.

He knew the books, even wrote some and asked the questions. _Do you feel safe at home?_ And Harry stood up and looked at his eyes with betrayal in his face. _How could he?_ He can almost see the questions written in his forehead. How could, Albus Dumbledore, leave Harry Potter in the care of abusive relatives.

_Were you ever harmed, in any way or form, when you were living there?_ Harry raged and seethed, demanded why _they_, the professors and caretakers of Hogwarts, would even consider believing such obvious lies.

_Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?_ Minerva broke down half-way through, her fierce care for those under her finally hit her with this new reality that her student's son was abused. And she was powerless here.

Harry dead stop, half turned in ranting and wanting to disappear under the floor. His shouting leveled down into half-heard muttered of denial and desperation for someone to believe him.

It was enough for all. They kept Harry overnight at the Infirmary, to stop the stares, the gossips, and the drama. He raged and raged, and he was suddenly reminded of himself, too young, already feeling the weight of the world. Too naive for politics, but mature enough for wars.

Students, on the other hand, were another story. They dutifully followed instructions, but once they turned an eye, they would explode into a mass frenzy of gossip, and drama.

Apparently, when he was attempting to also calm the parents of children who already wrote to their parents, but also the darn Ministry, Ronald Weasly had gotten into two fights, and a dual with young Draco Malfoy.

Hermione Granger had also, but not limited to, broken into a professor's office, managed to get hold of Sirius and informed him of the events that played out. Then had gotten herself detention from Snape when he found her sneaking out of her house and trying to break into the Infirmary. Not alone neither, tagging along was Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasly.

All in the span of a mere two hours.

A headache was already throbbed dully in his temples, that not even a sweet could subdue. Now. . . Now Dumbledore wants to rage, to fight and scream when he remembers a tiny baby in the hands of his mother who, with teary eyes, lets him hold him.

Or, he wants to dive straight into the political web drama that holds those in time. Wants to destroy everything and anything.

Another part wants to weep. Cry, and beg for a penalty that he knows won't come. Wants to look into the eyes of Lilly Potter and tell her how miserably horrible he failed her cherished son. How James would have reacted. Probably raged and seeth. _How could you have let this to happen?! We trusted you!_

But instead, he gets up, walking with slow and measured steps. He walks down the corridors, and he sees his colleagues. Snape, always sneering, but a blank expression took his mask.

McGonagall was another different tale. In his long life, not once did he see her this mad. Her hair, a shock from her tight bun, was in a mess. She took pride in her House, the brave and the courage, and like that, she looked like the personified being of Rage.

Her little lions, cubs, were hers to protect. Not all where strong, not all were brave. But her ignorance has cost her the trust of one of her own.

Albus, knows, _oh he knows_, he will be crucified, scoured in the pages of newspapers, his name shouted in righteous anger and despair. He can see the ghosts, mocking and raging.

He just wonders if he'll see Tom in Hell too.


	4. BREAKING NEWS

**A/N: **Wow, two updates? Is this for real? Yes.

* * *

**HARRY POTTER, AN ABUSED CHILD?**

_By Rita Skeeter_

_"A menace to society_," is what a muggle neighbor of young Harry Potter had to answer when questioned about the boy-who-lived. In the sleepy hometown of Harry Potter, Surrey is peaceful. But don't let appearances fool you.

A "menace" that saved our society from purging into the darkness from Dark Lords before he learned how to walk. I was always curious about how the world shaped our young hero if there's anything to learn.

I started asking the whole neighborhood, house to house, to see what the people he has been living with the thought of the young man. "_A criminal, a good for nothing, that's what I think."_ Another muggle told me as I asked about in Surrey. It all told the same tunes and the same story. Shocking, asking muggles after the young hero, they all got the information from the hero's aunt, of all people.

Send away to a school for the criminals. That's how they all know Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as. I dug around, trying to piece together if these stories told through muggles support what we have been telling. That he's a liar, told through manipulation and fear. So, I went back, trying to see if I missed anything. A house down the street that I been too late to get to. A muggle woman there answer the first questions like the rest, but with the air of something different.

_"Why are there bars on the window? "_

_Because he's always running away and causing wicked trouble._

_"Do you often see him? Or his state? "_

_I never had a personal interaction with that boy, but he does like too skinny for his age, I suppose._

This is where she asked not to be named, she finally opened up to her true feelings of the boy-who-lived.

_You have to understand something here. I- Well, his Aunt is very. . . Doting on her son. But to that boy, she, uh, is like a distant family you never met before. She defends herself by saying how the boy was dumped on her, which I can understand, by how his neglectful, drunk parents died in a car accident-_

_"Wait- Wait. Are you saying that's how they died? Drunk? "_

_That's what his aunt always says whenever the topic is brought up._  
_But, no I do not believe those rumors. I, personally, only met Harry once, but when I did, he was very polite and smart. Even went out of his way to help me in the yard. We only talked for a bit very his aunt went thundering out._

We all know how the Potter's were viciously attacked and ultimately died to protect their young child, so to hear it be so shadowed and muddled with lies made me a tad sick to the stomach.

I have to confess, I am no innocent bystander that could only gasp at such. I am guilty of many papers. But this is a line that I would never cross, I do, after all, have morals. I dug deeper and even manage to get a talk with his elementary school teacher, a kind muggle that offered me biscuits and coffee. She was in charge of his care for most of his time there, and she vividly expressed her concerns.

_Harry Potter? Well, that's a name I haven't heard in a long time. Yes, I do remember that boy._

_"How do you view him? Did he misbehave or do anything extreme? "_

_Harry Potter? Misbehaving? You must have the wrong Harry! I remember him because of how sheer brilliant that boy was. Always got answers to quizzes, and asked so many questions. He grasped concepts faster than his peers, always cleaning up after himself, and never made a fuss. Can't say the same for his cousin._

_"Oh? Can you tell me about him? "_

_Oh- yes, I remember Dudley, all for the wrong reasons. I do understand parents wishes to keep their child, well uh, innocent as long as possible, but with Dudley- he was always too rough with other kids, especially with poor Harry. Always cried and threw tantrums when things didn't go his way. The polar opposite of Harry, really._

_"Did you often see any, what's it called, red flags? "_

_Any human being with eyes could. Too skinny, and always wearing clothes too big for him with holes in them. Sometimes came in with red marks on his hands or scratches at his neck and arms. Always told me from playing. All rubbish._

_" Did you try to report it? "_

_Obviously. It's my duty as a teacher to care and keep safe all of my students. When I brought concerns to the principle, he contacted child services, but they couldn't get any solid evidence of abuse. Slept next door with his cousin, and had many toys, and sat with them in dinner._

_They couldn't do anything._

_"What happened next? "_

_Well, Harry was always the favorite student, except for Mrs. James, but after that ordeal. . . He stopped asking questions and stopped paying attention in classes. Started doing poorly in subjects he previously excelled at. He was. . . Quiet. Too quiet. We- we tried to help him, made up for his failing grades, snacks, anything- but, oh lord, I think we made matters worse._

_"Did things picked up? Or-"_

_A couple of months after he started to pay attention again. Made jokes with the teachers, he had quite the cheek, but he wasn't the same. But- but it progressed, I suppose. I never knew what happened after, is- is he alright? I know it's not my business, but I do care about everything._

_"Well, I spoke to him for a brief time, but he looked. . . Healthy, eating properly, and had two best friends, I believe. "_

_Oh! Oh- that's so wonderful! Kids weren't always nice when he was here, but I'm just so happy! Did he look happy totoooou?_

_"Well, I suppose. He's well known at his school, and won a tournament he participated for his school."_

_Oh! That's amazing! I wish- I wish that he gets nothing but support. He had a rough childhood, but by the sound of things, he finally seems to be away from the Dursley's!_

The muggle teacher went on about Harry Potter's early childhood education. In these dark times, we must come together, is what Albus Dumbledore said to the students in their welcoming feast.

What will happen to Harry Potter? Who could take custody of the Boy Who Lived-

* * *

Harry ripped the paper in half, crumbling them in between his fist as he grinds his teeth in frustration. He knows this would happen, he doesn't try to disillusion himself from reality, but still.

He slumps on the bed, bringing his face into his palms.

_What is he going to do? _


End file.
